


Words In The Dark

by taichara



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:33:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That first night in the Castle, secrets are spilled and vulnerabilities are exposed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words In The Dark

There was a time when Shiro was able to sleep soundly -- a year ago that was a lifetime ago. Now he'd discovered that, even free, sleep came in bits and snatches, with the least and littlest disturbance snapping him to full alertness. It had been a good habit, but now it was one that could go very, very bad, and he knew it.

Which meant when something noticably weighty careened onto his bed in the dark, he lashed out with his _left_ hand.

And touched cloth.

Cloth, and heaving ribs, as the unexpected arrival gulped air, ready for an unexpected fight. Shiro knew sound; a heartbeat later he registered the familiar weight still leaning against him. Very familiar. He dropped his arm.

"Keith? What are you ...?"

"Shiro, you sure you're alright?"

There was no mistaking him, even if he hadn't promptly draped himself across Shiro's back like a dog sprawling across its bed the moment Shiro's arm lowered. No suggestions, no nudges, just _there_. Not that Shiro felt like complaining after the last year -- last eternity -- but still. Shifting around to find himself a slightly more comfortable position, he reached up (slower, this time) to tug his fingers through Keith's shaggy hair.

"I should be asking you that. You failed out of the pilot program. You wanted that more than anything -- what went wrong? You didn't have that many demerits --"

" _You_ went wrong. Your mission went wrong. They said you _died_ and it was your fault."

The words tumbled out in a hiss of burning anger, barely contained, and Shiro almost thought he saw Keith's eyes fairly gleam with some other unspoken emotion before that shaggy head buried itself against Shiro's right shoulder blade. Keith's hands tightened on Shiro's undershirt; the angry litany never broke stride, a hot breath through thin fabric.

"They said you _died_ , Shiro. They declared you and your crew _dead_ and they tried to pin the blame on you -- that you _failed_ and lost the research team. 'It would have been pilot's error' -- _bullshit!_ "

"Keith ..."

Well. That explained a hell of a lot, didn't it. Shiro could see the confrontations in his mind's eye -- hell, he could practically hear Instructor Fokker, aggravated but still trying to calm Keith down before the brass finally lost patience -- and guilt cut him to the quick. It would have been a swift judgement, unfair, arguably ... but the letter of the law. Keith's record would have been black as soot by the time they'd gotten him under control.

The worst of it was that he, himself, could hardly fault the Garrison's ruling -- either of them. He kept that little wrinkle to himself, however, and distracted his spinning thoughts with the task of twisting around under Keith's weight -- hooking an arm around him to keep him from toppling off the bed -- so they could at least see each other without Shiro twisting his spine into a pretzel.

That was the plan, at least. Keith upended it as soon as Shiro stopped moving, burying his face in Shiro's shirt once again and flapping one hand in a clear motion of 'let me get myself under control, damn it'. Keith was venting heat like he was running a fever, actually quivering with long-held rage, and Shiro briefly wondered if he should ever ask just what it was, _exactly_ , that turned out to be the straw that broke the Garrison's back.

_You weren't in the stockade, at least? ... At least, I'm assuming you weren't._

_Damn it, Keith ..._

Wiry hands tracing over his shoulders and chest caught him suddenly off-guard. Shiro blinked rapidly ... but wait. His face stonily still, Keith looked anything but frisky as he continued to poke, prod and trace over the dark undershirt. That didn't make it any less distracting, though; distracting, and some other, more viscerally unnerving, half-remembered unease. 

Kicking himself mentally as he did it, Shiro caught Keith -- carefully -- by the wrists and lifted his hands slowly away. The piercing stare he was skewered by was equal parts hurt and concerned. Very, very concerned.

"You never wore a shirt to bed as long as I've known you. You're trying to hide it, aren't you."

Keith punctuated the not-really-a-question with a jerk of his left wrist -- the one encircled by a grip of grey, alien alloy. Shiro dropped his hands like he'd been electrocuted, twisting away, squeezing his eyes closed ... and Keith leaned against him again, pulling at the offending fabric.

"Don't hide. Not from me. I want to see it."

"I ..."

"I wouldn't be here if I cared about it, Shiro. Don't think -- don't _ever_ think -- you need to hide. Not from _me_ , damn it."

Hot anger, frustration, concern. All plain as day. He heaved a sigh and -- eyes still closed, he couldn't help it, didn't want to think about it -- pulled his shirt up over his head.

The artificial limb was on display in all its alien unnaturalness, now; not only the dull, smooth plates of the arm itself, but the tiny studs mid-bicep for securing his sleeve, the intricate molding of the shoulder ... and the eerily smooth seams, slightly reddened, where flesh met metal. Keith's questing fingertips traced over the join, felt along Shiro's chest and shoulder blade, traced the struts and synthetic muscle bundles lay unseen beneath the skin. 

Much more, it seemed, had been changed than just one limb. It had to be, didn't it. More carefully now, Keith traced the less obvious scarring that meandered around Shiro's upper torso.

"That doesn't look so great. Does it hurt? It looks inflamed."

"It's been worse. I suppose I'm doing pretty well, given surgery, implants, and who knows what else ..."

Promptly, Keith's head dropped against the smooth, cool metal of Shiro's shoulder. The rest of him followed, leaning hard enough to nearly tip Shiro over altogether, and he cut Shiro off before the question could even be made.

"I guess we both got ourselves messed up one way or another. So, we'll put it back together again. Out here maybe we have the chance. Okay?"

Simple. Could it really be that simple? That easy?

He hoped so. Carefully, Shiro slipped his arm free from Keith's sprawling weight, just to hook it loosely around him. The alien biosensors in that arm registered the heat Keith radiated; a different kind of touch, but he still felt it. ... Could still feel a lot of things.

"Okay. 

"Let's give it a shot."


End file.
